


wherever i may escape, it follows me

by cappers



Category: Free!
Genre: Australia, Gen, HARURINRALIA, M/M, Pre-Episode 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cappers/pseuds/cappers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru and Rin, after getting off the plane at Sydney’s Kingsford Smith Airport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wherever i may escape, it follows me

**Author's Note:**

> Written by a Sydneysider, gratuitous references to Australian idiosyncrasies and self-indulgent namedropping of Sydney beaches.  
> Un-beta'd.  
> Before ep 12.

It is when Haruka sees the number plates on the back of the cars that it dawns on him – they really are in Australia. 

He’d noticed the change in the language, of course, words drifting in and out of his ears, familiar and foreign all at once. His ears would catch onto certain words, half-remembered from English class, but by the time he could comprehend what they meant, the topic had changed. The overhead signs, directing travellers towards immigration and baggage carousels and toilets – all in English too, and he had ended up just letting Rin lead him to where they needed to go. And there were the people too, taller than he’d thought, really, and a wide spectrum in the colours of their hair and eyes and skin.

But those were the big things, and they had all been expected. The bustling and the jostling, the hugs and the greetings – up until they had walked out of the building, it had almost felt like he was wandering around in the set of a movie, with the background and the people and their actions tailored to fit in with one’s conception of what an Australian airport would be like. 

It’s always the little things that jolt the most, Haruka realises. The things that logically, you know, but you don’t really _know_ until you see it. 

It isn’t that he was expecting a hiragana character followed by four numbers, with the name of the place it was issued in kanji at the top, on these number plates. He doesn’t really know what he had been expecting either, which pretty much encapsulates how he feels about this trip. But, walking through the car park, looking at the three letters from the English alphabet printed next to another three numbers, all he can think of is how much it makes sense. How well it fits, how this thing that he’d never considered fell into place once he took notice of it.

It’s chillier here than in Japan, winter instead of summer, but Haruka doesn’t feel cold at all. Maybe it’s the warmth from Japan still in his body. Or maybe it’s something else.

“Hurry up, Haru,” Rin calls out, too loud for someone who is a scant three metres ahead of him. “If we miss this train, we’ll have to wait fifteen minutes for the next one.”

(“We’ll take the train,” Rin had said earlier, tilting his head up at the sign to see which direction the station was at. “You don’t mind, right? With just the two of us, it’ll be cheaper than a taxi and besides. This was how I got around all the time. I want you to have the whole authentic experience.” 

He’d smiled then, and Haruka found himself nodding along.)

It does not matter, in the end, how fast Haruka walked. They’d gotten to the station with five minutes to spare, only to hear an announcement on the loudspeaker informing them that the train on platform two would be ten minutes late.

“Typical,” sighs Rin, as he slumps against a pole. But it’s not, for Haruka. It’s not typical for trains to be late at all. Even back home, so much more relaxed than in the big cities like Tokyo, they were always right on time.

When the train does come, it brings with it yet another difference. 

“Up or down?” Rin asks as they roll their luggage onto the carriage. The trains here are two-tiered, with seats situated horizontally across the carriage rather than vertically, up against the sides.

“Up,” Haruka decides, and their bags bang against each step as they lug them up the stairs.

Rin stops in the aisle, standing next to a row of seats. He turns around, catches Haruka’s eyes, and promptly flips over the back of the seat so that what had, two seconds earlier, been a seat facing the head of the train is now facing the opposite way.

The back of these seats flip. They _flip_. 

“I just wanted to show you that,” Rin grins. “It blew my mind the first time too.”

As Rin flips them back so the two of them wouldn’t get a headache sitting on seats facing against the direction the train is travelling in, Haruka’s eyes wander to the other passengers, then back to Rin, who is wearing a hoodie and track pants and a cap.

Rin’s fashion sense has always stood out a little, and not just because of the atrocious prints he sometimes chooses to wear. It was the cut of his clothing, the numerous tank tops he wore. Probably more that Haruka couldn’t quite put a finger on because, really, Rin always stands out to him. But what is noticeable to Haruka now is how well Rin’s ensemble fits _in_.

“You’re dressed differently,” Haruka murmurs, as they settle onto the seats. “Somehow.” Rin blinks at him. 

“I. Yeah. Well.” He pauses. “There are things that I wear in Japan that I wouldn’t really wear here, you know? And things that I wear here that I wouldn’t wear in Japan,” he says, shrugging, as if it’s normal to switch around your wardrobe not based on the weather, but on the country. 

“Anyways. I was thinking,” he begins, taking out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. “I’ve been trying to make an itinerary. We’ll get off at Central Station today. Walk around the city, find a hotel. There should be plenty of vacancies, seeing as it’s not holiday period in any other country. And then,” he points to a word on the list, “we’ll eat here. It’s a Japanese place that I used to go to a lot, and it’s definitely got mackerel.” 

Haruka’s shoulders sag a little, in relief of a worry he hadn’t even thought about until Rin had brought it up, and Rin laughs. 

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns. “I’ll be taking you to eat fish and chips and pies and all that. Oh,” he muses, “you might like the fish and chips though. The place at Bondi is really good.” Rin’s eyes light up then, at his own mention of the beach, and he sits up a little more.

“Speaking of Bondi,” he starts, “we should go. It’s a bit touristy, but it’s the most famous beach here. It’s iconic.” He squints at the list in his hands then. “The more popular one with the locals though, I think, is Manly Beach, and it’s really great too.”

He hesitates a little, before beginning again. “I’ll take you to the North Sydney Olympic Pool in Milsons Point too. It overlooks the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House and the view is _amazing_ , especially in the evening when the sun is setting,” he stresses, as if gaining more confidence with each word, the paper crinkling as he tightens his grip on it. “And also the ocean pool at Freshwater Beach. It’s a seawater pool right next to the ocean, set into the cliffs, with the tide bringing in waves as you swim and –" 

He looks straight at Haruka, and the bright morning sun is shining on his face, and his hair is glinting, and his eyes are glittering, and Haruka forgets to breathe. 

“It’ll be like nowhere you’ve ever swum,” Rin promises.

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and hopeful. 

“Okay,” Haruka says, and he can feel the corners of his lips turning up for the first time in a long time. 

They get off at Central, as planned, their luggage trailing behind them as they step out of the train. In front of him, Haruka can see rows and rows of platforms, numbered one to two to three to sixteen and more. The ceiling is unbelievably high above his head. It’s quite possibly the grandest thing Haruka has ever seen. 

(“It’s the biggest station in Sydney,” Rin had explained earlier, sounding like the tour guide that he essentially was, “all the train lines have to pass through there.”) 

Next to him, people jostle onto the carriage, getting on with their day, going to work, going to school, going towards the rest of their lives.

It won't be the Opera House or the Harbour Bridge or even the beaches that he'll remember the most from this trip, Haruka knows now. It'll be the number plates, having to choose between going up or down on the trains, the cap on Rin's head. The way Rin had gripped that list in his hands.

“Let’s go, Haru,” says Rin, taking a step towards the exit, and Haruka follows.

**Author's Note:**

> Because the first time I really stopped and looked at Central Station after like two months of regularly stopping there, I was like 'woah'.  
> A little artistic licence re: the platforms at Central.


End file.
